Two words, like stones
fall between us and lie
in the grass.
But, it was gone.
Small words, innocent sounds
Smooth in the grass
More stones fall
” Innoperable,” drops heavily
“Growing,” gleams up from the ground.
“It’s. back. ” bounces and rolls against the others
No one dares drop the last stone.
It blocks my throat,
leaves no room for swallowing
The last stone.
I’m really very sorry, Sunday. I had planned to get up and meet you. But, now I have this Dachshund sleeping across my lap, his head resting in the crook of my arm. Clearly, I’m not supposed to leave the couch or change from my pajamas and robe. Also, my coffee is getting cold and the TV remote is out of reach.
I could refill my coffee and grab the remote on the way back. But no. No, I have priories. The Weiner Dog is comfy and snoring gently. My coffee is cooling, the TV is dark, and the dog dreams on.
Because, I’ve got priorities. Priorities and no coffee. Send help.
There’s a line. There’s always a line. This particular, awkward, line is the one between daydreaming and over-thinking.
Too often, I’m caught staring off into space, eyes unfocused mind focused deeply in some murky inner territory. This can happen while standing in line, or hanging around in one waiting room or another, or in conversation when something you’ve said triggers some intriguing image. Continue reading “Dancing On the Line”